


Routine

by babybrotherdean



Series: Kink Meme Fills [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Always Female Dean Winchester, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, John Being an Asshole, Sexual Abuse, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6958258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s something to be said for having a routine, but this is one that Dean thinks she could do without.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Routine

**Author's Note:**

> A [fill for the spn kink meme](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/109778.html?thread=41267410#t41267410)! Prompt is as follows:
> 
> _John casually slipping his hand up Dean's dress and fingering her under the table at dinner. Except it's not subtle, Mary definitely notices, and John knows she knows, but no matter how much she hates it there's nothing she can do to stop it._
> 
>  
> 
> _Can be any level of consent for Dean. Dean age 13-16. Bonus if after dinner Dean is helping Mary wash dishes he comes up behind her and casually starts fucking her as well._

Dean has come to dread eating dinner with her family, and she can’t help but wish that her dad would work late every night the way he used to. She can always feel his eyes on her when they’re in the same room, and it’s impossible to miss the way that her mother will hover nearby- a quiet guardian angel right up until they sit down at the table. Dean thinks maybe her dad only holds off during the day to string them along into a false sense of security, but that train of thought goes all sorts of bad places she doesn’t wish to pursue.

It’s always the same when they settle down- Dean in the middle with her father on her left and her mother on her right. They’re easing a cheesy meat lasagna tonight and she knows she should be excited for one of her favourite meals, but instead her stomach twists and turns in that confusing mess of fear and anticipation, has her tugging nervously at the dress she knows she’s supposed to wear like it’ll do anything to protect her. Even once she’s seated, she smooths it down over her thighs almost obsessively, hyper-aware of the way her father’s eyes rake over her body.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” he asks, and Dean flinches, drops her eyes to her plate. “Let’s eat this lovely meal your mother’s prepared for us, hm?”

The tension in the air is thick, but Dean does as she’s told and nods once before picking up her fork and knife. She’s taut as a drawn bowstring, hands trembling as she starts to cut into her lasagna, barely managing to take a bite. It’s delicious, of course, but it sits heavy in her stomach after she swallows, the tomato-cheesy aftertaste too strong on her tongue. 

She watches her dad out the corner of her eye, and it’s when his right hand drops down under the table that she knows she’s out of time.

Dean keeps her eyes down even as her movements slow, and she hears her mother’s sharp intake of breath when she flinches again- this time, for the warm weight of her dad’s hand on her bare knee. She tries to think of it as a part to play, a duty to fulfill as she spreads her legs and scoots in a little closer to the table, but her cheeks warm with mortification when the man hums his approval and slides his hand up until it can rest on the panty-clad mound of her pussy.

That’s where he stays for the next several minutes, using his fork with his left hand and leading casual conversation over the dinner table. The edge of his thumb brushes back and forth over the place where Dean’s lips part, and she can hardly think, arousal and self-hatred warring for a place in her chest. Her mother is tense, barely responds to John’s inquiries while her eyes rest largely on Dean. 

“Eat up, sweetheart,” John says lightly, and Dean startles back to attention as his thumb presses a little harder against her. “Don’t want to put this food to waste.”

It isn’t a request, so Dean forces herself to start eating again, mechanical movements to get the food from the plate to her mouth. She’s given no warning as her panties are abruptly tugged to the side, exposing her centre to the cool air for but a moment before thick, hungry fingers are pressing inside. She chokes on her food a little, hips stuttering forward and back like she can’t decide between pressing closer and pulling away, and there’s a clatter of silverware when Mary drops her fork.

“Everything alright, darlin’?” And still, John is the only one who seems entirely composed. Dean’s breathing fast and heavy, the fingers of one hand curled white-knuckled at the edge of the dinner table, and her mother in the corner of her eye is red-faced, trembling. It’s no secret, what’s going on, or how Mary feels about it, but there’s nothing that either of them can do. “You dropped your fork.”

“It slipped,” Mary bites out, and looks entirely too much like she wants to stab him with it. Dean stays quiet as she tries to catch her breath, a feat requiring her entire attention as John’s fingers start fucking into her without mercy.

Dean never has much of an appetite on these nights, and ends up pushing her food around her plate mindlessly while most of her attention is drawn by what’s going on between her legs. Even with the awkward angle, John is relentless, barely sparing a moment every now and then to brush over her clit. She knows that her pleasure isn’t the point of this, but it still makes her jump each and every time as the spark of heat shoots through her. She’s so wet, so desperate by the time he pulls his hand away that she can’t decide whether she’s thankful or just wants him to come back.

“Well, I’m all done,” John says with a smile, as Dean pants and closes her thighs and Mary glares daggers at the table. “Thanks for the meal. I’ll be in the living room.”

Things are quiet when he leaves, because they don’t talk about this. It’s this huge, ugly _thing_ in their family, unspoken and unwanted, but present all the same. Dean doesn’t bother to hang around much longer after her father leaves the room, shakily rising to her feet and gathering her dishes to bring to the sink. Her mother isn’t far behind.

A touch to her arm is the only acknowledgement Dean gets- the only they will get away with when John is in the next room. Mary starts the water in the sink and Dean stands by to dry the dishes, shifting her weight foot to foot and trying not to think about how uncomfortably wet she is or the way her panties sit off-kilter, riding up the slit of her cunt because she doesn’t want to reach down and readjust them.

As it turns out, it’d have been in vain, regardless.

“You girls working hard?” 

He comes up behind them, oddly silent on the tiled floor before his hands are settling on Dean’s hips, pressing in close until she feels his clothed erection pressing into her backside. “Takin’ such good care of me, aren’t you?”

Dean doesn’t reply, just scrubs blindly at the plate she’s holding and fights back the tears in her eyes. She knows exactly where this is going and just prays that she doesn’t drop anything this time. It’d taken nearly an hour to pick all the glass shards out of her feet a few weeks ago.

“John,” Mary says tightly, and he actually pauses where he’s hiking Dean’s dress up above her hips. Dean just stays still, tense in the silence between her parents. She’s almost hopeful for a moment, but something must happen that she can’t see because all the fight drains out of Mary and her shoulders slump as she goes back to washing the dishes, scrubbing too hard to really be justifiable.

A soft laugh, and John goes back to exactly what he’d been doing before. “That’s my girl.”

Dean nearly falls as her father nudges her legs farther apart, exposed now as her dress is lifted and her panties are moved aside once more. It’s all she can do to brace herself against the sound of a zipper, some shuffling behind her before the blunt head of her dad’s cock is easing its way between her pussy lips and pressing inside.

The stretch hurts- it always does- but not nearly as much as it would have, had he not fingered her open earlier. It’s all that Dean can be grateful for now as John’s fingers dig bruises into her hips and he starts fucking her in earnest, slow but deep. She knows she’s expected to complete her chores regardless of interruption, but her brain is stuck in the loop of obsessively drying the same dish in mindless circles while her body is rocked between her father’s and the counter.

She always loses track of time like this, senses narrowed to the half-assed work she’s doing with her hands, the huge cock moving inside her, and the sounds her father makes- low grunts as he drives in deep, burying himself in her most intimate place, ruining her for anyone who’d dare follow him there. Dean can only take it, tries to pay attention to her mother’s work to distract herself but only serves to remind herself further that they are utterly helpless in this situation.

Though John’s stamina can be impressive, he never tries to last very long when they’re doing this. Maybe it’s too much effort for him to stand too long, but he tends to finish quickly, thrusts becoming a little more erratic and occasionally knocking Dean too hard against the counter in front of her as he approaches and finally reaches his orgasm, spilling his seed inside her. He always fucks her bare, and after her first period a couple months ago, she can’t help but be scared that he’ll just knock her up sooner or later. Her mother’s quietly introduced her to birth control pills, but she has a sinking feeling that they aren’t going to last long if John finds out.

After he’s ridden out his orgasm, John pulls back slowly, leaves Dean wet and sloppy and dripping his come, globs of it slipping down her inner thighs and towards the floor. She gets a quick pat on the ass and a “good job, sweetheart,” before he leaves the room, and she’s left clinging to the counter, legs shaking under the effort of holding herself up and pussy throbbing with abuse and a need for attention. She still hasn’t come and the absolute last thing she wants to do now is touch herself.

Mary steadies her gently, and Dean lets her mother lead her away from the sink. The dishes are mostly finished, anyways, and Dean doesn’t have it in her to fight. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” her mother murmurs, and Dean just nods quietly.

There’s something to be said for having a routine, but this is one she could absolutely do without.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
